by Sheila Kumar
Samar threw back his head and laughed. ‘Ah, so Jenny was right. I’ll thank you not to call my friend a tart; that was Meera Thomas. She lives abroad, and was in town on a short visit.’
Nina digested the fact, then decided to ask the crucial question anyway. ‘Yes but why were you standing so dashed close to the woman? You looked like you were about to kiss her!’
‘About to kiss Meera?’ Samar looked astonished. ‘I wasn’t about to kiss Meera! Meera is married to a good friend of mine, Cherian Thomas. I don’t go around kissing other men’s wives!’
His outrage was genuine, but Nina had to clear her Meera-doubt once and for all. ‘I’ve heard about Meera. And you,’ she told Samar, her voice troubled. ‘She asked for a transfer away from Bangalore when you broke up with her.’
He looked astounded again, then a cold smile of understanding curled his lips. ‘That was the India! gossip, was it?’ he asked her in a biting tone. Nina didn’t tell him it was Jenny who had mentioned Meera to her. She looked steadily up at him, not saying a word.
His customary air of cold hauteur was stealing up on him. Nina watched in despair. Now he wouldn’t talk to her, not about Meera at least. But Samar realized what was happening and taking Nina’s hands in his lean ones, led her back to the sofa.
‘Nina, my darling, I have never ever dated Meera. But yes, we hung out a lot together, Meera, Cherian and me. Then Cherian was transferred to Kolkata and Meera’s office was not giving her a transfer to join him. She was in a job she really enjoyed doing, a job that paid well but she was ready to chuck it all up and go to Kolkata. Eventually, her bosses realized they would lose a great event manager and gave her the transfer. Cherian and Meera now live in the US.’
He leaned in further and nibbled hungrily at the corner of Nina’s mouth. ‘I’m fond of Meera. Fond, that’s all. What made you think she and I were—’
Nina cut in self-consciously, ‘I saw you with her. Something about the way you were looking at her hassled me…’
Samar’s face had an expression that said he had worked that fact out already. He quirked one eyebrow. ‘And?’ he asked gently, already guessing the answer.
Nina looked down at their entwined hands. ‘I saw you with her and ran away.’
‘And proceeded to break us up.’ The tone was matter-of-fact and Nina stole a quick glance from beneath her lashes at his face. His face wore a deadpan expression but his eyes were gleaming. Was he angry? Well, she would just have to risk it; he needed to know the truth. No more half-truths and evasions. If they were to make a fresh start, they needed to be totally honest with each other.
‘It wasn’t just her, Samar. And it wasn’t Karishma, either. It was not about other women, it was about us. I realized we didn’t have the healthiest of relationships. We were dating exclusively but we weren’t really talking, were we? I didn’t know you left town till after you left town. Not once, but time and again. And that was just one of the many things I didn’t know. I didn’t know when you had family over. I…’
Samar laid one long, lean finger on her lips. ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her, looking slightly uncomfortable now. ‘I had time to reflect on just what went wrong. You see, I got together with you without too many expectations, then soon realized I’d got in way too deep. And I like to be in control, all the time. So I was fighting myself unwittingly.’
Nina stared at him lovingly. Who was the real Samar Pratap Singh? The man who went through life with a suave smile on his lips, refused to let others glimpse into his inner self with any vulnerabilities that might be lurking in there? His life had shaped him to shoulder responsibilities early on and the habit of sharing feelings did not come easy to him. It was as if he had figured that he could get things done most of the time quietly, efficiently, without fuss. And so he didn’t see the need to put his head down, even momentarily, on someone else’s shoulder, leave alone that of the woman he loved. Those Samar loved, he protected. Now he would have to learn to confide, to share, to reveal the chinks in his armour, and to know that it was okay to do so.
Samar continued in a serious tone. ‘How about you, darling?’
Nina looked startled. ‘Me? What about me?’ she asked. He lifted her hands to his mouth and dropped feather-light kisses on her palms. She sighed happily.
Looking straight into her eyes, Samar continued, ‘You are the most self-contained girl I have ever known. Never for a minute do you let anyone see what you are feeling. It is as if you can cope with anything that is thrown at you. You didn’t once come and ask me about Meera, did you? Instead, you distanced yourself like a true-blue Englishwoman, and then came away.’
Nina was about to remind him that she wasn’t a true-blue Englishwoman, at least not completely, but Samar went on.
‘And remember, I heard you tell Alan you were in this relationship just for kicks!’
At that, Nina felt she had to register a protest. ‘Never for kicks! I don’t use that kind of language.’
Samar looked impatient. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’
Nina did know what he meant. Who was the real Nina Sabharwal, she mused. A girl who seemed imbued with preternatural calm, who went through life with an air of serenity? To a large extent, that calm, that serenity was Nina. But there was a part of her that shied away from conflict, scenes. Nina was not really a risk-taker, and if staying in her cocoon meant playing safe, well, so be it. Now she would have to learn to be a little more demonstrative, to wear her love on her sleeve and let the man she loved know how completely, unreservedly, she loved him.
Fear of losing control, that was what they both had. That was what both of them would have to work on.
Nina looked earnestly at him. ‘Samar, I knew by then that I was in love with you. But I didn’t know if you were serious, and I quite definitely didn’t want Alan speculating.’ Then on a note of complaint, she added, ‘I still want to know one thing: why were you holding Meera so close?’
Samar looked amused. ‘You know me, I’m a touchy-feely, hands-on kind of man, that’s what I am.’ Even as he spoke, his hands were moving purposefully to the pearl buttons of her shirt, in a very touchy-feely manner indeed.
But Nina had never met a man less touchy-feely than the reserved Samar Singh. She snorted. ‘Hands-on kind of man, huh? Well, from now I want your hands only on me, Samar Pratap Singh.’
‘Done, baby, done,’ he murmured and she suddenly realized his attention had wandered. He was staring at the neckline of her soft shirt which had fallen open, exposing the swell of one creamy breast. The tenor of his breathing altered, deepened. ‘Are you warm enough in that thing?’ he asked, brushing the top of her breast with the back of his fingers. Nina shivered pleasurably.
‘And if I say I’m not warm enough?’ she asked him softly, throwing him a teasing glance from behind thick lashes. Samar paused in his action of pushing her shirt off her shoulders and looked into her eyes, a slow and sexy smile widening his mouth.
‘Ah, then we must get you warm now, mustn’t we? We must get you positively hot, in fact.’ In one swift movement, he gently pushed her down full length on the deep couch, and his lean muscled body came down beside hers. His hands slid knowingly, familiarly, intimately beneath her pants to caress the soft skin of her upper thigh. Desire spiked through her, devouring her like a fast-moving flame. Pushing apart her shirt, he saw the lavender scraps of lace that was her bra and smiled a smile of pure male appreciation. Looking into her eyes, he stroked her breast. She caught her breath and his hand became urgent.
‘Darling…’ he said huskily.
‘What?’ she asked him, her face very flushed, her hands feverishly tearing his shirt open. It had been so long, too long. But Samar suddenly stilled, lifting his head from her breast.
‘Where is your sister? At work?’ he asked.
Nina smiled the smile of a satisfied feline. She slanted a significant look through her vivid blue eyes at him, leaned into him and trailed kisses down his throat, nibbled at the muscle that
jumped to life there.
‘She won’t be back for a while. She’s in Bangalore with Adam.’
Samar smiled. He moved her under him in one smooth gesture. ‘So we have all the time in the world?’ he asked her.
Nina smiled up at him with her heart in her eyes. ‘Yes, my dearest,’ she told him. ‘We have all our lives.’
EPILOGUE
IT WAS ANOTHER BALMY autumn in Bangalore. Nina Singh woke up to bright slats of sunlight slashing the bedroom. She stretched lazily; she could hear the shower in the bathroom and knew Samar was back after his morning run. Across from the bed on the opposite wall hung a striking black and white portrait of Nina, taken by Samar. It was a candid shot; Nina had not even known he was clicking her as she sat on the Karwar white-sand beach, her legs drawn up, knees tucked under her chin, gazing out over the water.
It was almost ten months since they had got married. It had been a grand wedding in the desert town of Jaisalmer. Samar had looked dashing in full Rajput regalia, with a jewelled turban, and a scimitar at his waist, and Nina had loved the inky blue of her own lehnga, with heavy gold zardosi embroidery at the hem, to match her dupatta. Her wedding attire had been chosen by her mother-in-law, Yashodara Singh. Both Anne and Susan Sabharwal had also most happily got into what they called ‘costume’ for Nina’s wedding, and both had looked very good in their finery.
Sue and Anne had taken to Samar almost immediately. For all of Anne’s natural dignity, she was quite susceptible to a handsome man’s undeniable charm, and even more so when that handsome man was her new son-in-law. Anne’s own love story went over big in her late husband’s country. She had fallen in love with the young, very handsome Indian doctor who had come to live in Armscote, had furtively dated and eventually married Prem Sabharwal under the disapproving eyes of her parents, moved to London with him and set about proving all the doomsday prophets who decried their mixed marriage wrong.
Susan had surprised them all, even herself. She had always been a little more forthright, a little less tactful than Anne. Fixing Samar with a deadly look from her cornflower-blue eyes, she had declared, not entirely keeping the accusation out of her voice, ‘You gave my sister some bad moments.’ There had been a moment when everyone around froze, then Samar had smiled a disarming smile. ‘Not half as bad as the bad moments she gave me, I assure you,’ he’d said. After which, they had proceeded to get along like a house on fire, her sister and her husband.
There had been a church wedding in Bangalore on Alan and Sita’s insistence. Alan had given Nina away, and Sue, Leena and Mini had been her bridesmaids. As she had walked up the aisle to Samar, dapper in a sharp dress suit, with her favourite flower, a white carnation in his buttonhole, he had suddenly turned and looked straight at her and the old sizzle had burst into fresh flame, leading at least a handful of women present to sigh loudly and audibly. Then there were receptions, in the magnificent Jaisalmer fort, in New Delhi and of course in Bangalore, too. Nina got a clear indication of just how well connected her in-laws were when she saw the turnout at the reception in the capital; there were Rajput royals, politicians, bureaucrats, film stars, activists, all kinds of shakers and movers. Both Manish Mann and Tara Rawal had been invited, and had attended.
The wedding celebrations had become a formidable show with several acts for Nina. But any time she started feeling out of her depth, before she could even contemplate an attack of nerves, she got a clear indication of just what kind of a caring man Samar was. Each time she felt a little lost or overwhelmed, she looked up and found her husband at her side, smiling encouragingly at her, reaching out a tender hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, saying something to her in a low voice that would have her laughing and blushing at the same time.
Karishma Jhala had been present at both the Delhi and Bangalore receptions. She had come with a young psychiatrist from the same facility she worked in, and had stayed out of Nina’s way after giving her a cold smile and colder congratulations, handing over a large gift-wrapped package. Another large package had arrived from Philadelphia, bearing the names of Meera and Cherian Thomas. Nina didn’t know whether she was relieved or sorry that Meera couldn’t be there on her wedding day.
‘One ex-girlfriend is all I can take,’ she informed Samar, shooting him an innocent look. At which, he had taken great pains to make her see that she was the only woman in his life, a process which left Nina thoroughly satisfied on that point, if rather out of breath.
Before Nina and Samar got married, there had been Susan Sabharwal and Adam Pereira’s wedding in Bangalore. Sue had made the most beautiful bride ever, and both Nina and Anne had gotten more than a little teary at the wedding. After a honeymoon in Bali, both of them were now back in London. Nina and Samar had chosen to spend a week in Coonoor for their own honeymoon, staying at The Croft, walking over to Samar’s piece of land and making plans for the farm that would come up there.
Since their own marriage, Samar and she had made two trips out to Delhi. Nina was slowly getting to know her in-laws better. She had quite warmed to Samar’s sister, Rani. Rani had the same easy manner as her brother and the same striking good looks, too. Rani’s husband, Rajvir, was a Rajput and came off looking and sounding stiff and starchy till one got to know him. In actual fact, he had a great sense of humour.
Yashodara Singh now was a different matter. She was friendly, most cordial to her daughter-in-law but there was this invisible line and Nina knew it would take time to cross that barrier. Hemant Jamwal was not easily won over, either. She felt she was on some sort of test, Hemant’s eyes following her every move.
‘How old are you?’ Hemant asked Nina once, out of the blue. She caught Samar’s laughing eye. ‘Twenty-six,’ she told Hemant. How old does she think I am, Nina thought a bit indignantly to herself, and had to endure Samar’s merciless teasing when they were alone.
‘Once Samar’s time with India! is up, will you move back with him to Delhi and find something to do here?’ Hemant asked her another day. Nina wondered fleetingly whether Yashodara Singh was putting Hemant up to these questions, but knew that her mother-in-law was not that sort of woman. When Yasho Singh wanted to know something, she would ask.
Then again, Nina knew something that Samar hadn’t told his mother or aunt yet. After his Bangalore stint, he planned to take up a one-year documentary project in the United Kingdom. They planned to make London their base. Nina would finish her book while Samar went around the countryside with his crew. Then there was the matter of the farm in Coonoor. However, Delhi would definitely be their home sometime in the future and Nina looked forward to that.
‘Of course,’ she told Hemant, smiling at her. The older woman met Nina’s clear-eyed gaze and saw something there which satisfied her, because she fell silent. And then piped up with, ‘What good-looking children the two of you will have.’ Laughing, Nina had looked over at Samar, blushing furiously at the expression in his eyes.
Both Yasho and Hemant looked up to Samar and their adulation, Nina realized, was something of a double-edged sword. It put him on an impossibly high pedestal, it didn’t give quarter for any failings he might have and it also made impossible demands on him, sometimes in the most insidious of ways. But now Samar had Nina beside him, ready to rescue him from anything he might need rescuing from! Both Yasho and Nina were the calm, unflappable sort, and already recognized and appreciated that quality in each other. In time, they could and would become good friends.
Time would do the trick and time was something she had to work on strengthening her relationship with Samar, with his family. In the meantime, Nina had joined spoken-Hindi classes and was finding it fairly easy and interesting to pick up more of the one language that worked for virtually most of this large and diverse country.
Her reverie was interrupted by Samar who came out of the bathroom wrapped in a large white towel. She gazed at his superbly muscled torso and all traces of sleep fled. Unbidden, Jenny’s remark on Samar holding the trademark on sex appeal slipped
into Nina’s head, and she gave a gurgle of laughter. Samar came up to the bed and gave her a curling smile, quirking an eyebrow.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, taking in the sleep-tousled perfection of his wife in the bed. Nina shook her head in reply, smiling up at him.
‘I’ll be back from Mumbai only by the middle of next week,’ he told her. ‘Will you be okay?’
‘Yes, darling, I’ll be fine,’ she told him, sliding to the edge of the bed and running her hand lazily along his calf. The muscle under her hand immediately clenched in response and she laughed. Then, looking up, she told him, ‘Mini wants me to go baby-clothes shopping with her. That will take all of this week, I’m sure.’
Mini had quit India! to join her ex-boyfriend Tarun Bhat’s news magazine and had settled into the job most comfortably. Not prepared to risk a repeat of their formerly tumultuous relationship with many a quarrel and many a separation, Tarun Bhat now treated her with the right amount of distance and respect. And in the meantime, Mini and Raj were all set to start a family.
Nina suddenly realized that she had been idly running her hand up and down Samar’s thigh under the towel. He stood perfectly still, watching her, his eyes gleaming like molten cinnamon. And then as if he couldn’t stand it any longer, he bent to kiss her, parting her mouth urgently like it had been ages since they had kissed.
‘Time for my second workout of the day,’ Samar told her wickedly. Not taking his mouth off of Nina’s, he whipped off the sheet covering her, and covered her slender body with his hard muscled one. Still in one fluid motion, he took her arms and pinned them with his own above her head. Nina gave a gasp, then closed her eyes and fell into the sweet, blind heat of passion. Just before he took her, Samar Singh told her in a low urgent voice, ‘I love you, Nina.’ It was a vow he took often, in bed and out of it. Nina smiled at him, her heart in her eyes. ‘I love you, too, Samar. Forever and always.’